Give Me Butterflies (Oaks Sisters #1)

Chapter 21

Finn

Damp sheets cling to my clammy skin as I drift back into consciousness. I feel as though I might need a crowbar to pry my

eyes open. Once I manage it, I blink a few times, assessing my aching head.

Fuck, it still hurts, but it’s better than last night’s migraine.

I roll over, groaning into my pillow at the ache in my whole body. But as I take a deep breath, the smell of fresh espresso

calls to me. It rejuvenates me enough that I trudge to the shower.

Clean and wearing fresh clothes, I descend the stairs, clutching my sheets to start in the wash.

Giggles float toward me from the living room, and the sound of their voices brings a smile to my face before I’ve even seen

them. I find Millie, Avery, and Eloise in the living room, kneeling around a board game on the coffee table. Millie is in

a pair of black leggings and a white T-shirt with Wilhelmina Astronomy Club written across the front.

My shirt .

She looks like she was meant to wear it, and the thought of seeing her like this every morning jostles something deep in my

chest. The primal urge to pick her up and claim her lips washes over me, and I have to clench my fists to stop myself.

Her eyes lift from the game and spot me. “Look who’s up.” She smiles, and the girls jump to greet me with hugs.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ave asks from my hip.

“Much better, piccola ,” I say, smoothing my hand over her head. She and Eloise both have two French braids this morning, and I’m in awe that Eloise

let Millie tackle the task.

The girls return to their game, but Millie stands to walk to me. My shirt almost reaches her knees, and I hate that I can’t

see how those tight leggings look on her thighs and hips.

She catches me staring, and her hands fist the front of the shirt. “I found this in the dryer. Lena brought me leggings but

forgot a shirt.” She rolls her eyes like she’s exasperated with her best friend. “Is that okay?”

I can’t lie. “It’s perfect on you,” I whisper, running a hand over her shoulder.

An adorable blush floods her cheeks.

“Did you sleep?” I ask, nodding behind her to the quilt and throw pillow on the couch. I don’t even know everything she did

for me last night, but she must be exhausted.

“A little. How are you feeling?”

“Better this morning.” I take a deep breath through my nose. “Is that espresso?”

Millie nods as she leads the way into the kitchen. “Full disclosure, I had to watch a YouTube video for the espresso contraption.

You’ll have to tell me how I did.” She starts to reach for a cup in the cabinet but pauses. “Should you have some after not

feeling well?”

My stomach is still unsettled, so maybe it’s not the best idea. “I’ll just inhale it for now and look for something safer

first.” I glance at the clock on the stove. “Is it really noon?” I ask, shocked that I’ve slept that long and that she has

been able to keep the girls quiet for me.

Millie takes a seat on her barstool. “You needed the sleep, and we’ve been fine. We made pancakes for breakfast and have been coloring and playing games since then.”

“Can I get you anything?” Opening the fridge to look for something safe for my stomach, I find a large container that wasn’t

there yesterday and turn to Millie. “Did you make me soup?”

“I did.”

“Do you want some?” I set the container on the counter and take out a pot to heat it up.

“Yes, please.” Millie watches me as I start the soup and put some bread in the toaster.

While it heats up, I lean my elbows on the island across from Millie. “You took care of me, made sure the girls were well,

and made me soup.”

She shrugs. “We’re friends, right? That’s what friends do.”

I let my eyes trace over her, let them memorize every detail. From the dusting of freckles across her cheeks, to her plump

bottom lip, to her glowing, bright eyes.

Fuck being friends with this woman. I want so much more.

I want her here every day. I want to finally run my fingers through her waves like I’ve been fantasizing about. Wrap my hands

around her hips and feel how perfectly they fit in my grip.

I exhale a deep breath and shake my head. “Oh, Millie. I don’t want what friends do. I want much more than that with you.”

Her eyes flare and her cheeks pinken before she looks down at her lap. Her focus stays there for a beat, and I watch the flicker

of emotions play across her face as she tries to decide how to respond.

I fully expect her to lift her gaze and tell me firmly not to say things like that.

It’s the right thing to do.

But instead, when her eyes meet mine, they’re a fiery green, and she watches me through her lashes as she whispers, “Like

what?”

The floor is ripped out from under me with those two syllables. My throat goes dry, and I swallow a few times, trying to wet it.

Her teeth drag over her bottom lip, and I don’t know if she’s doing it on purpose, but it’s fucking torture.

I wait for her to take the words back, but she doesn’t. She just lets them land between us like a ticking bomb.

Tick-tick-tick.

She wants to know what I want to do to her?

Fucking everything .

The words tumble from my lips. “I want to sink my fingers into your hair and kiss you. Taste your lips after months of wishing

I could.”

She leans in, setting her forearms on the counter. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and her eyes drift closed slowly like

she’s savoring the idea.

When she opens them again, they’re glossy and heavy with arousal as she whispers, “I want that too.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My fingers twitch like they have a mind of their own. Like they’re about to follow through with my words.

I clench my fists and force myself to stay on this side of the counter.

“Then what would you do?” she asks.

This doesn’t feel real. Maybe I’m still asleep in my bed, having a fevered fantasy about her.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to wake myself up, but it doesn’t work. I’m still here, in the kitchen, with the woman

of my dreams asking what I want to do to her.

Taking a deep breath, I whisper, “I would run my hands up that shirt and finally feel your warm skin on mine. Find out if

you’re wearing a bra, or if my fingers will get to slide over your nipples.”

She goes perfectly still, and regret fills my chest. That was too far. I shouldn’t have said it.

With our gazes locked, she presses her teeth into her bottom lip so hard that it turns white. Then she releases it and whispers,

“No bra.”

My legs go weak, and a low groan seeps from my throat. Fuck whatever this fucking sickness is. I’m straining against the front

of my sweatpants, and I want to pull her into the pantry and follow through with everything I said.

Voices rise from the living room, the sounds of the girls arguing over their game flooding the space between us with reality.

“I’ll go.” Millie pulls her hands back and flees from the room like it’s on fire.

Well, it fucking is .

I listen to their muffled conversation while I dish the soup into two bowls. Taking a deep breath, I dig my fists into the

counter, hoping the situation in my sweatpants will deflate.

When Millie returns to her barstool, her cheeks and eyes are back to their normal color, like she’s contained everything that

just happened in this kitchen.

I’m having a harder time controlling that beast, but I force myself to ignore its rattling cage and serve her a bowl of soup

and a plate of toast.

“This is delicious,” I say as the first spoonful of chicken, rice, and vegetables hits my tongue.

She dips a chunk of toast into the broth. “My dad taught me how to make this. Most of my cooking skills come from my mom,

but this one is my dad. He’s not as good at the medicine and fretting part of having sick kids, so he always made the comfort

soup.” She picks up a spoonful and brings it up between our faces. “I don’t really like celery, so he always cuts the pieces

so tiny they’re almost invisible.”

“When I was sick as a kid, Clara would heat up Campbell’s for me. I loved the hell out of that soup, but I think it was mostly because she made it for me.”

“What was she like?” Millie asks.

The weight that always presses on my chest when I think about my sister shifts a little. “She was...” My voice comes out

hoarse, so I clear my throat to reset. “She was the kindest person I’d ever met. She had this way of making everyone around

her comfortable, even in the most awkward situations. And she was so selfless. Took care of me better than our own parents.”

Millie nods. “Do the girls have some of her personality?”

I rock my head from side to side, thinking. “Both girls are a little like her. She was outgoing like Eloise and could talk

to anyone she met, and she was compassionate and self-aware like Avery. And they both laugh exactly like her. Sometimes it

haunts me when I hear it.” That grief-filled weight feels a bit lighter with every word, like discussing Clara with Millie

is releasing some of the heavy load that has been burdening me.

Millie leans her cheek on my shoulder and wraps her hand around my arm. “She sounds wonderful. I wish I could’ve met her.”

“Me too.”